'illll    i  ;• 


i     ii!: 


A    STUDY    OF 

FRANCIS  THOMPSON'S 

Hound  of  Heaven 


BY 


REV.  J.  F.  X.  qCONOR,  S.  J. 

Professor   of  Philosophy,  St.  Francis  Xavier  College,  N.  Y. 

Editor   of   Autobiography   of   St.   Ignatius, 

of  Life  of  St.  Aloysius.  etc. 

FOURTH      EZDITION 


Dedicated  with  permission  to 

HIS  EMINENCE 

CARDINAL  FARLEY 


A 


New  York 
JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

MCMXII 


JosEi'H  F.  Havselman,  S.J. 

rrovincial,  Maryland-New  York 

Nllyil  ©betat. 

Remigius  Lafojpt,  S.T.L. 

Censor 

Umpnmatur. 

John  *  Car  din**.  Farley 

Archbishop  of  New  York 

^ew  York,  Mily  20th.  1912 


Printea,  July   20,    191S 300  copies 

■R-enripted,  AAigKst,  ^  1913.  .'. 1,000  copies 

Rjepri.-ited,   Sep^emb^r,-  lOlli 1,000  copies 

Reprinted,   December,   1912  ....  .2,000  copies 


Copyright, 
J.  F.  X.  O'CoNOR,  1912. 


A.   STUDY 

OF 

FRANCIS    THOMPSON'S 

HOUND  OF  HEAVEN 

By  Rev.  J.  F.  X.  O'Conor,  SJ. 


This  great  poem,  strange  to  say,  is  comparatively  little 
known.  It  is  the  sweetest,  deepest,  strongest  song  ever 
written  in  the  English  tongue. 

Among  some  of  the  great  odes  are  ''Alexander's 
Feast,"  Dryden,  ''Ode  on  the  Nativity,"  Milton,  "Intima- 
tions of  Immortality,"  Wordsworth.  To  say  Thompson's 
poem  is  one  of  the  great  odes  is  to  place  it  unranked 
among  them.    In  my  judgment  it  is  greater. 

I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  with  the  Bookman  that  "the 
Hound  of  Heaven  seems  to  us,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
wonderful  lyric  in  the  language.  It  fingers  all  the  stops 
of  the  spirit  .  .  .  hut  under  all,  the  still  sad  music 
of  humanity,"  and  with  the  Times,  that  "people  will  still 
be  learning  it  by  heart  two  hundred  years  hence,  for  it 
has  about  it  the  unique  thing  that  makes  for  immortality. 
It  is  the  return  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  Thomas  a 
Kempis." 

With  the  Spectator,  I  ask,  "is  there  any  religious  poem 
carrying  so  much  of  the  passion  of  penitence — an  ode  in 

3 

255407 


the  manner  of  Crashaw,  and  in  the  comparison,  it  more 
than  holds  its  own." 

With  Coventry  Patmore  I  marvel  at  the  "profound 
thoughts  and  far-fetched  splendor  of  imagery,  qualities 
which  ought  to  place  him  in  the  permanent  ranks  of 
fame,"  while  even  Burne-Jones  cries  out  ''Since  Gabriel's 
Blessed  Damosel  no  mystical  words  have  so  touched  me 
as  the  Hound  of  Heaven." 

And  may  we  not  add  the  words  of  G.  K.  Chesterton, 
"with  Francis  Thompson  we  lose  the  greatest  poetic 
energy  since  Browning.  In  his  poetry  as  in  the 
poetry  of  the  universe,  you  can  work  infinitely  out  and 
out,  but  yet  infinitely  in  and  in.  These  two  infinities  are 
the  mark  of  a  great  poet,  and  he  was  a  great  poet." 

"The  great  poetry  of  it  (The  Hound  of  Heaven)  tran- 
scended in  itself  and  in  its  influence  all  conventions," 
says  Wilfrid  Meynell,  "so  that  it  won  the  love  of  a  Catholic 
Mystic  like  Coventry  Patmore ;  was  included  by  Canon 
Beeching  in  his  Lyra  Sacra  among  its  older  high  com- 
peers; and  gave  new  heart  to  quite  another  manner  of 
man,  Edward  Burne-Jones." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  another  poem  in  the  lan- 
guage that  gives  such  food  for  thought,  so  satisfying,  so 
new,  that  can  be  read  and  reread,  and  always  with  a 
relish  and  a  discovery  of  a  new  application,  or  the  glim- 
mer of  an  unseen  light.  In  many  poems,  one  reading 
suffices,  and  the  mind  is  sated,  for  the  whole  depth  is 
plummeted  and  all  is  revealed  in  a  single  view.  It  is  not 
so  in  this  poem.  There  is  a  depth  that  can  be  sounded, 
and  deeper  depths  are  still  there.  The  vision  takes  in  the 
view,  but  other  details  arise  that  charm,  or  surprise,  or 
startle,  or  evoke  admiration  at  the  spiritual  insight  into 
the  workings  of  the  soul.  It  gives  great  and  wide 
range  of  thought   within  a  small   compass,   and   a  deep 

-1 


knowledge  of  the  human  soul,  of  the  meanings  of  life,  of 
the  soul's  relation  to  God  and  of  other  beings  not  God, 
and  of  the  hold  of  God's  love  upon  the  soul  in  spite  of  its 
fleeing  from  Him  to  the  creatures  of  His  hand. 

It  is  happiness  the  human  soul  is  ever  yearning  for. 
It  never  ceases  its  quest  for  happiness.  Night  and  day, 
year  after  year,  it  is  grasping  after  happiness.  The  weary 
days  of  labor  are  borne  to  gain  the  wealth  with  which 
_„^^it  thinks  it  may  buy  happiness.  The  days  of  suffering 
'>^«and  pain  are  spent  in  watching  and  waiting  for  the  agony 
to  pass,  that  happiness  may  come.  It  looks  for  it  in  every 
creature,  in  the  earth,  in  the  sea,  in  the  air.  The  soul 
asks  all  these  things — wherein  is  your  happiness — and 
the  answer  of  earth,  air,  sea  is  "He  made  us."  '*We  are 
for  Him,  for  His  glory."  So  the  soul  is  looking  for 
happiness,  and  in  all  these  things  it  will  not  find  happi- 
ness. It  will  find  happiness  only  in  God.  And  yet 
instead  of  seeking  it  in  God,  it  turns  away  from  Him 
and  seeks  it  in  the  creature,  something  that  is  not  God. 
And  God  is  ever  seeking  that  soul  which  is  running  away 
from  Him.  Wherever  it  runs,  the  sound  of  those  feet, 
following  ever  after,  is  heard,  and  a  voice,  stronger  than 
the  beat — 

But  with  unhurrying  chase. 

And  imperturbed  pace. 

Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy 

They  beat — and  a  Voice  beats 

More  instant  than  the  feet, 

"All  things  betray  thee,  who  betrayest  Me." 

And  this  thought  of  the  creature  fleeing  from  God,  and 
ever  pursued  by  His  love,  is  most  beautifully  expressed 
in  the  poem  of  Francis  Thompson,  the  great  Catholic  poet. 
He  seems  to  sing  in  verse,  the  thought  of  St.  Ignatius  in 

5 


the  spiritual  exercises, — the  thought  of  St.  Paul  in  the 
tender,  insistent  love  of  Christ  for  the  soul,  and  the 
yearning  of  Christ  for  the  love  of  that  soul  which  ever 
runs  after  creatures,  till  the  love  of  Christ  awakens  in 
it  a  love  of  its  God,  which  dims  and  deadens  all  love  of 
creatures  except  through  love  for  Him.  This  was  the 
love  of  St.  Paul,  of  St.  Ignatius,  of  St.  Stanislaus,  of  St. 
Francis  of  Assisi,  of  St.  Clare,  of  St.  Theresa. 


THE  HOUND  OF  HEAVEN. 

The  name  is  strange.  It  startles  one  at  first.  It  is  so 
bold,  so  new,  so  fearless.  It  does  not  attract  at  once, 
rather  the  reverse.  But  when  one  reads  the  poem  this 
strangeness  disappears.  The  meaning  is  understood. 
As  the  hound  follows  the  hare,  never  ceasing  in  its 
running,  ever  drawing  nearer  in  the  chase,  with  unhur- 
rying  and  imperturbed  pace,  so  does  God  follow  the 
fleeing  soul  by  His  Divine  grace.  And  though  in  sin  or 
in  human  love,  away  from  God  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
Divine  grace  follows  after,  unwearyingly  follows  ever 
after,  till  the  soul  feels  its  pressure  forcing  it  to  turn  to 
Him  alone  in  that  never  ending  pursuit 


FRANCIS   THOMPSON. 

r^rancis  Tliuinpson  was  born  at  Preston  in  1859,  the 
son  of  a  physician.  After  seven  years  at  Ushaw,  he  went 
to  Queens  College  to  qualify  for  his  father's  profession. 
He  came  to  London  ill  and  in  great  poverty,  in  reality 
starving,  and  was  saved  by  the  act  of  one  whom  he  has 
immortalized : 

"She  passed — O  brave,  sad,  lovingest,  tender  thing, 
And  of  her  own  scant  pittance  did  she  give 

That  I  might  eat  and  live: 
Then  fled,  a  sw^ift  and  trackless  fugitive." 

He  died  in  the  hospital  of  St.  John  and  St.  Elizabeth,  in 
St.  John's  Wood,  at  the  age  of  forty-eight,  on  November 
13,  1907.  His  works  are:  Poems,  Sister  Songs,  New 
Poems,  Selected  Poems,  The  Hound  of  Heaven. 

In  prose  he  has  written  "Shelly,"  Health  and  Holiness, 
and  "The  Life  of  St.  Ignatius  Loyola."  The  last  named 
is  edited,  with  notes,  by  J.  H.  Pollen,  S.J. 

"History  will  certainly  be  busy  with  this  remarkable 
man's  life,"  writes  Alice  Meynell,  "as  well  as  with  his 
work;  and  this  record  will  serve  in  the  future,  being  at 
any  rate,  strictly  true.  As  to  the  fate  of  his  poetry  in 
the  judgment  of  his  country,  I  have  no  misgivings. 
For  no  reactions  of  taste,  no  vicissitude  of  language,  no 
change  in  the  prevalent  fashions  of  the  art,  no  altering 
sense  of  the  music  of  verse,  can  lessen  the  height  or 
diminish  the  greatness  of  this  poet's  thought,  or  undo 
his  experience,  or  unlive  the  life  of  this  elect  soul,  or 
efface  its  passion.  There  is  a  call  to  our  time  from  the 
noble  seventeenth  century;  and  this  purely  English  poet 
cried  "Adsum"  to  the  resounding  summons: 
Come,  and  come  strong 
To  the  conspiracy  of  our  spacious  song. 
8 


The  Hound  of  Heaven 


I  FLED  Him,  down  the  nights  and  down  the  days ; 
I  fled  Him,  down  the  arches  of  the  years; 
I  fled  Him,  down  the  labyrinthine  ways 

Of  my  own  mind ;  and  in  the  mist  of  tears 
I  hid  from  Him,  and  under  running  laughter. 
Up  vistaed  hopes,  I  sped; 
And  shot,  precipitated, 
Adown  Titanic  glooms  of  chasmed   fears. 

From  those  strong  Feet  that  followed,  followed  after. 
But  with  unhurrying  chase. 
And  unperturbed  pace, 
Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy, 

They  beat — and  a  Voice  beat 
More  instant  than  the  Feet — 
''All  'things  betray  thee,  who  betrayest  Me." 

I  pleaded,  outlaw-wise, 
By  many  a  hearted  casement,  curtained  red, 

Trellised  with  interwining  charities; 
(For,  though  I  knew  His  love  Who  followed, 

Yet  was  I  sore  adread 
Lest,  having  Him,  I  must  have  naught  beside.) 
But,  if  one  little  casement  parted  wide. 
The  gust  of  His  approach  would  clash  it  to. 
Fear  wist  not  to  evade  as  Love  wist  to  pursue. 

9 


Across  the  margcnt  of  the  world  I  fled, 

And  troubled  the  gold  gateways  of  the  stars, 
Smiting  for  shelter  on  their  clanged  bars; 
Fretted    to   dulcet   jars 
And  silvern  chatter  the  pale  ports  o'  the  moon. 
I  said  to  dawn :  Be  sudden ;  to  eve :  Be  soon— 
With  thy  young  skyey  blossoms  heap  me  over 
From   this   tremendous  Lover ! 
Float  thy  vague  veil  about  me,  lest  He  see ! 

I  tempted  all  His  servitors,  but  to  find 
My  own  betrayal  in  their  constancy. 
In  faith  to  Him  their  fickleness  to  me. 

Their  traitorous  trueness,  and  their  loyal  deceit. 
To  all  swift  things  for  swiftness  did  I  sue; 
Clung  to  the  whistling  mane  of  every  wind^ 
But  whether   they  swept,   smoothly  fleet, 
The  long  savannahs  of  the  blue; 

Or  whether.  Thunder-driven, 
They  clanged  His  chariot  'thwart  a  heaven, 
Pla<^hy  with  flying  lightnings  round  the  spurn  o'  their 
feet  :— 
Fear  wist  not  to  evade  as  Love  wist  to  pursue. 
Still  with  unhurrying  chase. 
And   unperturbed  pace. 
Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy, 
Came  on  the  following  Feet, 
And  a  Voice  above  their  beat — 
"Naught  shelters  thee,  who  wilt  not  shelter  Me." 

I  sought  no  more  that  after  which  I  strayed 

In  face  of  man  or  maid; 
But  still  within  the  little  children's  eyes 

Seems  something,  something  that  replies. 
They  at  least  are  for  me,  surely  for  me! 

10 


I  turned  me  to  them  very  wistfully; 

But  just  as  their  young  eyes  grew  sudden  fair 

With  dawning  answers  there, 
Their  angel  plucked  them  from  me  by  the  hair 

"Come  then,  ye  other  children,  Nature's — share 
With  me"   (said  I)   "your  delicate  fellowship; 
Let  me  greet  you  lip  to  lip, 
Let  me  twine  with  you  caresses, 

Wantoning 
With  our  Lady-Mother's  vagrant  tresses. 

Banqueting 
With  her  in  her  wind-walled  palace, 
Underneath  her  azured  dais, 
Quaffing,   as   your  taintless   way  is. 
From  a  chalice 
Lucent-weeping  out  of  the  dayspring." 

So   it  was   done: 
/  in  their  delicate  fellowship  was  one — 
Drew  the  bolt  of  Nature's  secrecies. 

/  knew  all  the  swift  importings 
On  the  wilful  face  of  skies; 
I  knew  how  the  clouds  arise. 
Spumed  of  the  wild  sea-snortings ; 
All  that's  born  or  dies 
Rose  and  drooped  with;  made  them  shapers 
Of  mine  own  moods,  or  wailful  or  divine — 
With  them  joyed  and  was  bereaven. 
I  was  heavy  with  the  even, 
When  she  lit  her  glimmering  tapers 
Round  the  day's  dead  sanctities. 
I  laughed  in  the  morning's  eyes. 
I  triumphed  and  I  saddened  with  all  weather, 
Heaven  and  I  wept  together, 
11 


And  its  sweet  tears  were  salt  with  mortal  mine; 
Against  the  red  throb  of  its   sunset-heart 
I  laid  my  own  to  beat, 
And  share  commingling  heat ; 
But  not  by  that,  by  that,  was  eased  my  human  smart. 
In  vain  my  tears  were  wet  on  Heaven's  grey  cheek. 
For  ah !  we  know  not  what  each  other  says, 

These  things   and   I ;  in   sound  /   speak — 
Their  sound  is  but  their  stir,  they  speak  by  silences. 
Nature,  poor  stepdame,  cannot  slake  my  drouth; 

Let  her,  if  she  would  owe  me, 
Drop  yon  blue  bosom-veil  of  sky,  and  show  me 

The  breasts  o'  her  tenderness : 
Never  did  any  milk  of  hers  once  bless 
My  thirsting  mouth. 
Nigh  and  nigh  draws  the  chase, 
With  unperturbed  pace, 
Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy. 
And  past  those  noised  Feet 
A  Voice  comes  yet  more  fleet — 
*'Lo !  naught  contents  thee,  who  content'st  not  Me." 
Naked  I  wait  Thy  love's  uplifted  stroke! 
My  harness  piece  by  piece  Thou  hast  hewn,  from  me, 
And  smitten  me  to  my  knee; 
I  am  defenceless  utterly. 
I  slept,  methinks,  and  woke, 
And,  slowly  gazing,  find  me  stripped  in  sleep. 
In  the  rash  lustihead  of  my  young  powers, 

I  shook  the  pillaring  hours 
And  pulled   my  life   upon  me;   grimed  with   smears, 
I  stand  amid  the  dust  o'  the  mounded  years — 
My  mangled  youth  lies  dead  beneath  the  heap. 
My  days  have  crackled  and  gone  up  in  smoke. 
Have  puffed  and  burst  as  sun-starts  on  a  stream. 

1« 


Yea,   faileth   now   even   dream 
The  dreamer,  and  the  lute  the  lutanist; 

Even  the  Hnked  fantasies,  in  whose  blossomy  twist 
I  swung  the  earth  a  trinket  at  my  wrist, 
Are  yielding;  cords  of  all  too  weak  account 
For  earth,  with  heavy  griefs  so  overplussed. 

Ah !  is  Thy  love  indeed 
A  weed,  albeit  an  amaranthine  weed, 
Suffering  no   flowers   except  its  own  to  mount? 

Ah!  must — 
Designer  infinite ! — 
Ah !   must   Thou   char   the   wood   ere   Thou   canst   limn 

with  it? 
My  freshness  spent  its  wavering  shower  i'the  dust; 
And  now  my  heart  is  as  a  broken  fount, 
Wherein   tear-drippings   stagnate   spilt   down   ever 

From  the  dank  thoughts  that  shiver 
Upon  the  sighful  branches  of  my  mind. 

Such  is;  what  is  to  be? 
The  pulp  so  bitter,  how  shall  taste  the  rind? 
I  dimly  guess  what  Time  in  mists  confounds; 
Yet  ever  and  anon  a  trumpet  sounds 
From  the  hid  battlements  of  Eternity: 
Those  shaken  mists  a  space  unsettle,  then 
Round  the  half-glimpsed  turrets  slowly  wash  agair  ; 

But  not  ere  him  who  summoneth 

I  first  have  seen,  enwound 
With  glooming  robes  purpureal,   cypress-crowned; 
His  name  I  know,  and  what  his  trumpet  saith. 
Wliether  man's  heart  or  life  it  be  which  yields 

Thee  harvest,  must  Thy  harvest  fields 

Be  dunged  with  rotten  death? 
13 


Now  of  that  long  pursuit 
Comes  on  at  hand  the  bruit; 
That  Voice  is  round  me  hke  a  bursting  sea : 
"And  is  thy  earth  so  marred, 
Shattered  in  shard  on  shard? 
Lo,  all  things  fly  thee,  for  thou  fliest  Me ! 
Strange,   piteous,    futile   thing! 
Wherefore  should  any  set  thee  love  apart? 
Seeing  none  but  I  make  much  of  naught"   (He  said), 
"And  human  love  needs  human  meriting: 

How  hast  thou  merited — 
Of  all  man's  clotted  clay  the  dingiest  clot? 

Alack,  thou  knowest  not 
How  little  worthy  of  any  love  thou  art! 
Whom  wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble  thee, 
Save  Me,  save  only  Me? 

All  which  I  took  from  thee  I  did  but  take, 

Not  for  thy  harms. 
But  just  that  thou  might'st  seek  it  in  My  arms. 

All  which  thy  child's  mistake 
Fancies  as  lost,  I  have  stored  for  thee  at  home : 

Rise,  clasp  My  hand,  and  come." 

Halts  by  me  that  footfall: 
Is  my  gloom,  after  all. 
Shade  of  His  hand,   outstretched  caressingly? 
"Ah,  fondest,  blindest,  weakest, 
I  am  He  Whom  thou  seekest ! 
Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me." 


1^ 


THE  HOUND  OF  HEAVEN. 

Interpretation. 

The  poet  begins  with  the  idea  of  the  soul  fleeing  from 
God,  'T  fled  Him  down  the  arches  of  the  years,"  and 
how  it  strives  to  hide  from  Him  in  sorrow  and  joy,  "in 
the  mist  of  tears  and  under  running  laughter."  Nor  can 
it  escape  either  in  hope  or  fear  from  those  feet  ''that 
follow  after"  "up  vistaed  hopes"  and  "adown  Titanic 
glooms  of  chasmed  fears."  For  those  feet  ever  follow 
after  and  a  voice  beats  "more  instant  than  the  feet"  "with 
unhurrying  chase,  and  unperturbed  pace,  majestic  in- 
stancy." 

"All  things  betray  thee  who  betrayest  me." 

And  when  it  came  to  plead  for  the  love  of  other 
hearts,  "by  many  a  hearted  casement,"  although  it  knew 
His  love,  yet  it  feared  lest  having  him,  it  must  have 
naught  beside. 

The  human  heart  is  not  generous  enough  to  give  up  all, 
and  be  satisfied  with  the  love  of  God.  It  wishes  other 
things  besides  God,  and  because  God  will  have  no  other 
love  in  His  place,  it  fears  the  love  of  God  which  demands 
this  sacrifice,  and  it  sacrifices  God  instead.  But  He  is 
not  satisfied  with  this.  The  creature  must  love  Him.  So 
when  the  "casement  is  parted  wide"  the  "gust  of  His  ap- 
proach would  clash  it  to." — 

The  soul  is  in  fear  of  Him.  It  flees,  but  love  pursues 
after  fear.  And  though  it  flee  to  the  stars  across  the 
world,  to  the  moon,  love  is  there  still  pursuing.  At  dawn 
and  at  eve  it  strives  to  hide,  it  calls  upon  the  sky  to  drop 
its  veil  lest  He  see, 

15 


It  tries  to  tempt  God's  creatures,  but  finds  them  con- 
stant, and  itself  betrayed.  To  everything  swift  it  turns 
to  evade  the  Divine  pursuer,  to  the  wind  of  the 
prairie,  or  to  the  thunder-chiven  winds  that  sweep  the 
heavens  mid  thunder  and  Hg-litning,  but  its  fear  cannot 
evade  the  swift  following  of  love.  Its  search  is  vain 
in  the  face  of  man  or  maid,  and  it  turns  to  the  children, 
thinking  "they  at  least  are  for  me,  surely  for  me,"  again 
to  be  undeceived.  They  answer  not,  for  their  angel  takes 
them  away.  Nature's  children  will  guard  their  fellow- 
ship, playing  with  the  tresses  of  Mother  Earth,  in  her 
palace  with  walls  of  wind  and  her  blue  dais  of  the 
heavens,  drinking  from  a  chalice  out  of  the  day-spring. 
It  learned  the  secrets  of  Nature,  the  changes  in  the  sky 
and  the  meaning  thereof,  the  origin  of  the  clouds  from 
the  foam  of  the  sea,  the  causes  of  life  and  death,  and 
made  these  tell  his  moods  of  lamentation  or  divine 
exaltation,  companions  of  joy  or  sorrow.  It  was  heavy 
with  the  evening,  and  radiant  with  laughter  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  glad  in  bright  and  sad  in  stormy  weather.  It 
wept  with  nature  and  throbbed  in  unison  with  its  sunset 
heart.  But  not  all  these  things  could  fill  the  craving. 
Nature  felt  the  tears  on  her  own  cheek,  but  could  not  un- 
derstand, or  speak.  Nature  was  but  a  stepmother,  and 
could  not  slake  that  thirst,  nor  did  she  once  give  to  drink 
of  her  breasts  for  the  quenching  of  that  burning  thirst. 
Nowhere  can  it  find  content. 

Finally,  when  all  has  failed,  when  the  armor  is  broken 
piece  by  piece  and  falls  from  the  soul  and  it  is  smitten 
and  utterly  defenceless,  the  soul  that  seemed  sleeping, 
awakes.  It  finds  that  in  its  sleep  it  has  been  stripped. 
In  the  rash  strength  of  its  youth,  it  pulled  down  the 
pillars  of  life  in  time.  It  stood  amid  the  dust  of  its  years 
heaped  up  as  a  mound,  all  begrimed  with  smears. 

in 


Its  youth  lies  dead  under  that  heap,  the  days  of  Hfe 
seem  to  have  caught  fire  as  chips,  and  crackled  and  gone 
up  in  smoke,  and  seemed  to  pufif  up  and  burst,  as  the 
sunlight  flashes  on  rippling  water. 

And  now  even  the  dream  is  gone  from  the  dreamer, 
and  the  lute  no  more  gives  music  for  the  lute-player. 

Even  the  thoughts  of  poesy  that  seemed  to  make  the 
earth  an  enchanted  toy  are  fading  away;  they  were  not 
strong  enough  cords  for  the  earth,  and  are  overtaxed 
by  grief. 

All  is  so  full  of  sadness,  and  sorrow,  and  grief,  and 
failure  to  the  heart  seeking  for  love. 

Ah !  is  this  His  love  ?  Is  it  an  immortal  weed  that  will 
let  no  flowers   spring  up  but  its  own? 

Must  Thou,  O  infinite  designer,  char  the  wood  before 
Thou  wilt  draw  any  design  with  it? 

Ah!  must — 

Designer  infinite ! 

Ah!  must  Thou  char  the  wood  ere  Thou  canst  limn 
with  it? 

This  is  what  puzzles  the  world. 

Must  Thou  char  the  wood  ? 

Must  the  soul  and  life  be  burnt  in  bitter  suffering,  a 
complete  holocaust — before  Thou  canst  limn  with  it? 

Before  God  can  draw,  in  the  infinite  design  of  His 
Providence,  and  work  with  the  soul  as  a  fit  instrument, 
it  must  be  charred  in  the  furnace  of  suffering. 

Upon  the  soul  must  be  carved  the  image  of  Jesus 
Christ  and  Him  crucified. 

In  the  Christian  life  must  be  reproduced  the  crucified. 

The  pride  of  human  life  must  be  charred  by  humilia- 
tion deep  and  bitter. 

The  sensuality  of  man  must  be  burnt  to  a  charred  stick 

17 


\)\  jiliysical  pain,  inlcnse  suffering,  denial  of  the  senses, 
absolute. 

The  uncontrolled  affections  of  the  human  heart  must 
he  bridled,  subdued,  conquered,  and  before  Divine  Love 
can  use  that  heart,  all  merely  human  dross  must  be  burnt 
away,  and  the  heart  purified  of  all  earthly  desire. 

Ah !  must — 

Must  Thou,  Designer  infinite,  char  the  wood,  before 
Thou  canst  limn  with  it? 

It  is  the  history  of  the  dealings  of  God  with  the  human 
soul. 

All  pride,  sensuality,  inordinate  affection  must  be  burnt 
out  of  the  heart  before  God  works  with  it  on  His  design. 
And  until  that  is  done,  after  the  soul  there  comes  the  beat 
of  insistent  feet,  and  a  voice  more  instant  than  the  beat. 

Deny  thyself,  leave  all  and  follow  Me. 

And  the  voice  will  never  cease  till  the  soul  gives  up  all 
it  loves,  absolutely  all,  even  though  it  persists  in  strug- 
gling to  hold,  and  yields  nothing  until  forced  by  that 
voice  around  it  like  a  bursting  sea,  "Naught  shelters  thee, 
who  wilt  not  shelter  Me." — 

"The  cross,  therefore,  is  always  ready,  and  everywhere 
waits  for  thee. 

Thou  canst  not  escape  it  whithersoever  thou  runnest; 
for  whithersoever  thou  goest,  thou  carriest  thyself  with 
thee,  and  shalt  always  find  thyself. 

Turn  thyself  upwards,  or  turn  thyself  downwards; 
turn  thyself  without  or  turn  thyself  within  thee,  and 
everywhere  thou  wilt  find  the  cross. 

Prepare  thyself  to  suffer  many  adversities,  and  divers 
evils,  in  this  miserable  life."  (Imitation  of  Christ 
I.  C,  12.) 

My  freshness  has  fallen  down  as  a  shower  in  the  dust, 
my  heart  is  like  a  broken  fountain,  filled  with  stagnant 

18 


tears  that  drop  from  the  moist-heavy  thoughts,  from  the 
sad  branches  of  my  mind. 

If  the  inside  of  the  fruit  is  so  bitter,  how  will  the 
rind  taste?  I  dimly  guess  at  what  is  seen  confusedly 
through  the  mists  of  Time.  Yet  at  times  I  hear  a  trum- 
pet from  Eternity,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  those  everlasting 
battlements,  for  a  moment  I  see  them  through  the  half- 
clearing  mists  that  settle  thick  again  and  dim  the  view. 
But  not  before  I  have  seen  him  who  calls,  wrapped  in 
his  purple  robes  of  gloom  and  crowned  with  cypress.  I 
know  death,  and  the  meaning  of  his  trumpet  that  calls  an 
end  to  all  in  life. 

For  the  harvest  field,  whether  it  is  of  man's  life  or 
man's  heart,  must  be  dunged  with  death  before  they  yield 
Him  a  harvest. 

Life,  before  its  harvest  is  given  to  the  Divine  Harvester   ^ 
must  meet  with  death ;  so  too,  the  harvest  of  the  human 
heart  must  meet  with  the  death  of  all  it  loves,  must  die 
to  self  before  it  gives  the  harvest  to  the  harvester  of  love. 

The  noise  of  the  long  pursuit  is  at  hand,  and  that 
Voice  is  around  me  like  a  bursting  sea. 

Is  that  earth  which  thou  didst  so  love,  now  so  utterly 
spoiled  that  it  lies  like  a  broken  jar  in  pieces  on  the 
ground?     Lo!  all  things  fly  thee,  for  thou  fliest  me. 

O  strange,  pitiful  object,  so  helpless.  Why  should  it 
thus  think  that  anything  should  love  thee  ?  No  one  but 
I  loves  such  a  wretched  thing  as  thou  art. 

There  should  be  some  merit  to  deserve  human  love. 

What  hast  thou  done  to  merit  ?  Thou,  the  most  dingy 
clot  of  all  mortal-clotted  clay. 

Alas,  thou  dost  not  know  how  little  worthy  thou  art  of 
any  love.     Thou  art  so  ignoble,  whom  wilt  thou  find  to  ■ 
love  thee,  but  Me?  Whatever  I  took  from  thee,  I  did  not 
take  to  harm  thee  by  the  loss,  but  that  thou  mightst  look 

10 


for  it  in  my  arms.  By  a  child's  mistake,  what  thou  didst 
imagine  was  lost,  I  have  kept  all  stored  for  thee  at 
home. — 

Rise,  clasp  my  hand  and  come.  That  footstep  is  be- 
side me. — 

Is  it  true  that  what  I  thought  was  my  gloom,  was  only 
the  shadow  of  His  hand  outstretched  to  caress  me? 

I  hear  him  say  to  me  now,  and  oh,  how  true  it  is ! 

Ah!  fondest,  blindest,  weakest,  I  am  He  whom  thou 
seekest.    Thou  dravest  love  from  Thee,  who  dravest  Me. 


20 


SEPARATE  TOPICS. 

The  Soul  pursued  by  God. 

The  soul  flees  from  Him — nights,  days,  years — in  wan- 
dering of  thought,  in  tears  and  laughter,  in  hopes  and 
fears — 

Those  feet — follow — and  a  Voice 

More  instant  than  the  feet 

"All  things  betray  thee,  who  betrayest  Me." 

The  love  of  creatures. 

They  elude  him,  evade  him,  are  not  true  to  him,  for 
he  is  not  true  to  God.  ''Namght  shelters  thee,  who  wilt 
not  shelter  me." 

The  love  of  children. 

When  their  love  seems  to  answer,  their  angels  pluck 
them  from  him  by  the  hair. 
The  love  of  nature. 

Nature,  poor  stepdame,  cannot  slake  my  drought. 

"Lo!  naught  contents  thee,  who  content' st  not  me." 

Shorn  of  armor — defenceless — asleep — awake,  my  man- 
gled youth  lies  dead. 

My  days  have  gone  up  in  smoke. 

Puflfed  and  burst  as  sun-starts  on  a  stream. 

The  dream  fails  the  dreamer,  the  lute  the  lutanist. 

The  soul  sought  human  love, — and  though  I  knew  His 
love  who  followed,  yet  I  was  sore  adread,  lest  having 
Him,  I  must  have  naught  beside. 

The  soul  knows  His  love — and  knows  it  is  a  jealous 
love,  and  is  afraid  that  if  it  accepts  that  love  and  answers 
it  as  it  should  be  answered,  there  could  be  no  room  for 
any  creature. 

And  flying  from  that  love,  every  human  love  was  dis- 

21 


loyal,  false — false  to  the  love  that  was  false  to  God — true 
to  God  and  in  its  trueness  to  God — untrue  to  the  love 
untrue  to  God. 

And  the  children  just  as  their  love  answers — their 
angel  plucked  them  by  the  hair. 

Come,  then,  ye  other  children — Nature's — share  with 
me  your  delicate  fellowship. 

I  drew  the  bolt  of  Nature's  secrecies. 

Knew  the  importings  of  the  wilful  face  of  skies. 

How  clouds  arise — from  the  foam  of  the  wild  sea 
snortings. 

Knew  all  that's  born  or  dies. 

I  was  heavy  with  the  even. 

When  she  lit  her  glimmering  tapers. 

Round  the  day's  dead  sanctities. 

I  laughed  in  the  morning's  eyes. 

I  triumphed  and  I  saddened  in  all  weather. 

But  Ah !     We  know  not  what  each  other  says. 

In  sound  I  speak — they  speak  in  silences. 

Whether  man's  heart  or  Hfe  it  be  which  yields  Thee 
harvest — must  thy  harvest  fields  be  dunged  with  rotten 
death. 

Now  after  that  long  pursuit  comes  a  noise. 

That  Voice  is  round  me  like  the  bursting  sea. 

"And  is  thy  earth  so  marred 
Shattered  in  shard  on  shard." 

Lo  all  things  fly  Thee,  for  thou  Uiest  me. 
Wherefore  should  any  set  thee  love  apart? 
Seeing  none,  hut  I  make  much  of  naught. 
"How  little  worthy  of  any  love  thou  art." 
"Whom  wilt  thou  £nd  to  love  ignoble  thee,  save  Me — • 
save  onl\i  Me?" 

22 


All  which  I  took  for  thee  I  did  but  take  not  for  thy 
harms. 

But  just  that  thou  mightest  seek  it  in  my  arms. 
All  that  thou  didst  fancy  lost,  I  have  stored  for  thee 
at  home. 

Rise,  clasp  my  hand  and  come. 

Halts  by  me,  that  footfall, 
Is  my  gloom  after  all 

Shade  of  His  hand,  outstretched  caressingly. 

Ah!  fondest,  blindest,  weakest, 

I  am  He  whom  thou  seekest^ 

Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me." 


23 


MYSTICAL   APPLICATION. 
I. 

THE    SOUL    FLEES   FROM    GOD. 

The  soul  flees  from  God  by  the  love  of  creatures,  by 
sin,  by  self-love,  by  turning  from  God,  by  refusing  to 
listen  to  the  inspirations  of  grace. 

Turning  away  from  God. 

1.  ''All  things  betray  thee,  who  betrayest  Me." 

Fear  v^ist  not  to  evade,  as  Love  wist  to  pursue. 

2.  "Naught  shelters  thee,  who  wilt  not  shelter  Me" 

Children  and  nature. 

3.  "Lo!  naught  contents  thee,  who  contenfst  not  Me.'* 

Naked  I  wait  Thy  love's  uplifted  stroke. 

4.  ''Lo!  all  things  Hy  thee,  for  thou  Mest  Me." 

Strange,  piteous,   futile  thing! 

5.  'Whom  wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble  thee,  Save  Me, 

Save  only  Me?" 
All  which  I  took  from  thee  I  did  but  take,  not  for 
thy  harms. 

6.  "Rise,  clasp  my  hand,  and  come." 
Halts  by  me,  that  footfall: 

7.  "Ah,  fondest,  blindest,  weakest, 
"I  am  He  Whom  thou  seekest!" 

"Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me." 
The  soul  seeks  for  happiness 
In  creatures. 
In  human  sympathy. 
In  knowledge  and  study  and  science. 

25 


In  nature. 

All  is  failure. 

It  can  find  it  only  in  God. 

Without  Whom  all  is  emptiness. 

The  very  unloveableness  of  all  is  to  teach  the  loveable 
ness  of  God. 

He  has  recompense  for  all. 

Only  He  loves — He  only  is  worthy  of  being  loved. 

WTien  the  soul  drives  Him  away  it  drives  away  happi- 
ness. 

It  turns  from  God — true  happiness — to  look  for  happi- 
ness in  something  that  is  not  God. 

It  runs  away  from  God — and  God  ever  pursues  the 
soul — yearning  to  win  it  back  to  true  happiness,  while  it 
pursues  false  happiness. 

This  false  happiness  it  looks  for  in  creatures. 

In  human  beings — in  human  sympathy  and  love. 

In  the  love  of  little  children. 

In  the  love  of  nature. 

In  the  love  of  knowledge — earth,  sea  and  sky,  the 
stars — in  the  seasons — they  all  speak  not. 


26 


MYSTICAL   APPLICATION. 

11. 

GOD  PURSUES  THE  SOUL. 

When  the  soul  turns  from  God  to  love  creatures  inor- 
dinately instead  of  loving  God,  He  places  disappointment 
in  the  object  loved,  to  make  it  turn  back  to  God,  who 
alone  can  satisfy  the  capacity  of  the  soul.  He  follows 
arid  reproaches  the  disloyalty  of  the  soul,  and  creatures 
are  disloyal  to  it,  at  the  time  they  seem  loyal,  with  "trait- 
orous trueness"  and  "loyal  deceit." 

God  reproaches  the  soul,  chides  it,  pleads  with  it. 
Sends  it  many  inspirations,  by  means  of  a  word,  a  ser- 
mon, a  line,  a  sorrow  of  life,  a  sickness,  a  suffering. 

The  soul  finds  all  a  failure — bitterness,  with  despond- 
ency and  occasional  glimpses  of  Eternity,  and  the  thought 
of  decay  and  death. 

Then  sounds  a  voice — like  a  bursting  sea.     The  love 
that  was  sought  is  broken  in  pieces  like  a  vessel  of  clay. 
All  things  fail  to  answer  the  yearning  for  love  of  the 
human  soul — which  only  God  can  fill. 

Why  should  I  find  anything  in  thee  to  love,  and  yet  I, 
only  I,  love  thee — worthy  of  little  love. 

Whom  wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble  thee,  save  Me, 
save  only  Me? 

"That  which  I  took — thou'lt  find  it  in  my  arms, 
It's  stored  for  thee  at  home,  not  lost. 
Rise,  clasp  my  hand  and  come." 
"Halts  by  me  that  footfall 
Is  my  gloom  after  all 

Shade  of  His  hand  outstretched  caressingly? 
27 


Ah !  fondest,  blindest,  weakest, 

I  am  He  whom  thou  seekest, 

Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me." 


Francis  Thompson  wrote  tiie  Life  of  St.  Ignatius  and 
knew  his  ideas. 

From  the  Poem  we  may  draw  a  parallel  with  the 
Spiritual  Exercises  of  St.  Ignatius : 


28 


Spiritual  Exercises. 

I  Week. 

End  of  man,  end  of  creatures, 

sin,  hell,  death. 

The   soul  turns   from   God  by 

the  wrong  love  of  creatures. 

Chooses  them  instead  of  God. 

'Repentance.        Conversion     of 

Soul  to  God. 


Poem. 

I. 

The  soul  fleeing  from  God  to 

every  creature. 
Resisting  grace. 
Returning  to  God. 
Rise,  clasp  My  hand  and  come. 


II  Week. 
Knowledge  and   Love  of   Our 

Lord.  The  Kingdom  of 
Christ.  The  Incarnation. 
The  Nativity.  Hidden  Life. 
Public  Life.  Two  standards. 
Three  classes  of  Men.  Three 
Degrees  of  Humanity. 

III  Week. 
The  Passion  of  Christ. 

The  Agony,  the  Scourging,  the 

The  Passion  of  Christ. 
Crowning  with  Thorns.    Be- 
fore  Pilate.     The   Death   in 
shame  on  the   Cross   in  the 
Crucifixion. 


IV  Week. 
The  Resurrection. 
Contemplation  on  Divine  Love. 
The    creatures    of    God    that 


IL 

Humility,   surrender. 

Naked  I  wait  Thy  love's  up- 
lifted stroke.  My  mangled 
youth  lies  dead  beneath  the 
heap.  How  little  worthy  of 
any  love  thou  art.  Whom 
wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble 
thee  save  Me,  save  only  Me? 
III. 

The   Mystery   of   Suffering. 

Is  Thy  love  indeed  a  weed,  an 
amaranthine  weed? 

Ah !   designer  infinite. 

Oh !  must  Thou  char  the  wood 
before  Thou  burn  with  it. 
Desolation  of  soul,  sorrow, 
humiliation.  Self  .Sacrifice 
with  Christ  Crucified. 
IV. 

Rise,  clasp  My  hand  and  come. 

All  which  thy  child's  mistake 


were  means  before,  are  now 
as  gifts  from  God  to  the 
soul.  The  creatures  of  God 
which  He  has  made,  Hves  in, 
operates  in,  for  man,  are 
broken  reflections  of  the  Di- 
vine beauty. 


fancies  as  lost,  I  have  stored 
for  thee  at  home. 
Is  my  gloom  after  all  shade  of 
His  hand  outstretched  ca- 
ressingly? Thou  dravest  Love 
from  thee,  when  thou  dravest 
Me. 


I  Week. 

In  the  First  Week  of  the 
Spiritual  Exercises  of  St.  Ig- 
natius the  soul  meditates  on 
Man  and  the  end  for  which  he 
and  other  creatures  were  made, 
God.  He  can  find  happiness  in 
God  alone.  He  turns  from 
God  to  creatures,  and  loves 
them  for  themselves,  instead  of 
as  means  to  help  him  to  God. 
This  is  sin.  Sin  turns  man 
from  God,  and  leads  him 
to  love  creatures  instead  of 
God.  He  meditates  on  the 
evil  of  sin  which  separates 
the  soul  from  God  and  casts 
it  into  hell.  Knowing  the 
evil  and  malice  of  sin,  the  soul 
turns  back  to  God.  God  in  His 
mercy  pardons  the  repentant 
sinner  and  receives  him  back 
to  His  friendship  and  His  love. 

II  Week. 

In  the  Spiritual  Exercises 
the  soul  listens  to  the  Voice  of 
the  Kin'g  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Christ,  who  calls  His  noble 
followers  about  Him — asking 
them  to  make  themselves  re- 
markable in  the  service  of  their 
King.      None   but   a   cowardly 


I. 

In  the  poem  by  Francis 
Thompson  the  soul  turns  away 
from  God,  and  strives  to  find 
its  happiness  in  creatures,  love, 
children,  nature,  knowledge,* 
poetry — it  finds  that  all  things 
betray  it  who  betrays  God, — 
naught  contents  it,  who  con- 
tents not  God. — It  can  find  a 
return  of  love  in  no  creature — 
not  in  man — nor  in  children, 
nor  in  nature — until  stripped  of 
all,  it  turns  to  God. — In  Him 
alone  it  can  find  what  it  seeks. 
— Yet  God  loves  it — unworthy 
of  love. — Only  God  loves  the 
soul — who  had  driven  away 
His  love. 


IF. 

In  the  Poem  the  thought  re- 
sponding to  the  Second  Week 
of  the  Exercises  is  the  virtue  of 
humility,  and  the  surrender  of 
self  as  the  result  of  failure  to 
find  love  in  creatures  to  satisfy 
the  yearnings  of  a  soul  meant 
for   God.     The  soul  is  sought 


30 


knight    would    refuse    such    a 
call. 

None  but  a  cowardly  soul 
would  refuse  to  follow  his 
kingly  leader  Christ. 

He  must  follow  him,  and 
prove  his  love  by  imitating 
Christ 

In  the  humility  of  the  Incar- 
nation, 

In  the  poverty  of  the  Nativ- 
ity at  Bethlehem, 

In  the  obscurity  of  the  Hid- 
den Life  at  Nazareth, 

In  the  toil  of  the  PubHc  Life 
in  Judea. 

If  we  wish  to  be  like  Christ 
we  must  learn  from  Him  and 
His  example  the  virtues  of  hu- 
mility, poverty  of  spirit,  the 
retirement  of  the  Hidden  Life 
and  the  incessant  toil  of  the 
PubHc  Life.  We  must  do  good 
not  only  for  ourselves,  but  for 
others  and  for  the  glory  of 
God. 

Ill  Week. 

The  Third  Week  is  given  to 
the  Meditations  on  the  Passion, 
sufferings  and  death  of  Christ. 
A-fter  the  Supper  at  Bethany 
and  the  institution  of  the  Eu- 
charist, the  follower  of  Christ 
fed  by  the  bread  of  Angels, 
must  go  with  his  King  in  the 
way  of  suffering.  He  will  share 
in  the  anguish  of  His  Divine 
Heart — in  the  Agony  in  the 
Garden,  he  will  feel  the  bitter 
pangs  of  His  Sacred  Body— in 
the  scourging  by  the  soldiers; 


for  by  God,  kept  from  finding 
rest  in  creatures  by  their  in- 
capacity to  respond  to  the 
yearning  of  the  soul  whose 
happiness  can  be  filled  by  God 
alone. 

So  it  must  not  seek  that 
which  gratifies  pride,  and  gives 
glory  to  self  instead  of  to  God, 
by  fame  and  reputation,  nor 
rest,  nor  leisure  in  the  mere 
enjoyment  of  the  things  of  the 
earth,  but  make  all  things  a 
means  of  bringing  the  soul 
closer  to  its  Lord  and  Master. 
So  there  must  be  humility  and 
surrender  of  self  to  God.  "I  wait 
Thy  love's  uplifted  stroke." 


III. 

Ah !  Designer  Infinite,  must 
thou  char  the  wood  before  thou 
canst  limn  with  it? 

For  the  soul  to  be  made  an 
instrument  of  the  Infinite  De- 
signer it  must  be  tried  in  the 
fire  of  suffering  until  it  is 
charred,  and  its  self-love  and 
imperfections  removed  by  pain. 
Why  should  it  be  so?  The  In- 
finite Designer  has  so  ordained. 
He  has  given  the  example  of 
suffering.  "He  was  wounded 
for  our  iniquities,  and  by  His 


31 


he  will  know  the  pangs  of  His 
Divine  mind  in  the  cruel 
crowning  of  thorns,  and  will 
taste  the  full  bitterness  of  the 
holocaust  of  suffering  on  the 
road  to  Calvary  and  in  the 
three  hours  on  the  cross,  and 
the  death  of  the  Crucified. 

The  soul  penetrates  the  depths 
of  Divine  suffering  and  learns 
that  to  be  like  the  Lord  it,  too, 
must  share  the  bitterness  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  Master. 


bruises  we  are  healed."  But 
we  must  apply  His  sufferings 
to  our  own  souls.  He  merited, 
but  we  must  individually  apply 
His  merit.  It  would  be  easier 
for  Him  to  bear  all,  and  for  us 
to  bear  none,  but  He  has  borne 
more,  we  must  bear,  at  least, 
some  suffering.  He  gave  the 
greatest  proof  of  love.  He  laid 
down  His  life  for  His  friend. 
He  was  not  obliged  to  do  so, 
His  love  constrained  Him. 
Shall  we  be  so  unselfish  as  not 
to  wish  to  suffer  something  for 
Him  who  suffered  so  much  for 
us.  He  gave  up  all  for  us. 
Love  dictates  that  we  should 
give  up  all  for  Him,  even  were 
it  not  necessary.  The  proof  of 
our  love  will  be  our  likeness  to 
our  Crucified  Lord. 

Ah !  Designer  Infinite,  must 
Thou  char  the  wood  ere  Thou 
canst  limn  with  it? 


IV  Week. 
The  spirit  of  the  Fourth 
Week  of  the  Spiritual  Exer- 
cises is  joy  with  our  Risen 
Lord.  Gladness  and  happiness 
at  His  Resurrection  are  to  be 
the  keynote  of  all  our  thoughts. 
We  are  rejoicing  because  He 
our  Master  and  King  who  suf- 
fered pain  and  died,  now  suf- 
fers no  more,  but  has  risen  to 
life  by  His  own  power  to  die 
no  more.  He  will  receive  in 
His  Sacred  Humanity  the  re- 
ward of  all  His  sufferings  and 


IV. 

"Rise,  clasp  my  hand,  and 
come."  The  despondency  and 
gloom  brought  on  by  the  fail- 
ure of  creatures  to  respond  to 
the  seeking  for  happiness,  by 
the  failure  of  everything  in  life 
to  bring  content  and  happiness, 
now  gives  way  to  the  consoing 
thought : 

'T,  your  God,  am  near.  You 
thought  all  things  were  lost,  but 
I  have  kept  them  stored  up  for 
you  at  home."  The  gloom  that 
?ecmcd  to  darken  each  joy  and 


32 


merits.  We  rejoice,  also,  be- 
cause by  His  resurrection  we 
are  assured  of  our  resurrection 
from  the  dead,  and  freedom 
from  sin,  pain  and  sorrow  for- 
evermore.  The  creatures  which 
God  gave  as  means  are  now 
gifts  of  His  goodness  to  us,  re- 
flections of  His  Divine  Beauty. 
Where  we  made  sacrifices  for 
His  love,  He  has  given  us  a 
hundredfold  in  return  and  life 
eternal. 


to  take  away  all  happiness  in 
life,  was  it  after  all  the  shade 
of  His  hand  caressing  me?  Is 
it  not  now  all  brightened  by  the 
joy  and  glory  of  the  love  that 
has  come?  The  love  that  I 
drave  away,  when  I  drave  my 
Lord  away,  I  drave  Love  from 
me,  when  I  drave  Him.  Ah ! 
Love  Divine.  Stay  with  me 
forevermore  to  be  my  joy. 
Now  that  I  know  Thee,  Divine 
Love,  shall  I  ever  drive  this 
Love  from  me?  May  it  not 
be  said  of  me  'Thou  dravest 
Love  from  thee  when  thou 
dravest  Me." 


33 


TOPICS  FOR  STUDY. 

In  this  poem  we  may  consider  separately 
The  Thought. 
The  mystical  thought. 
The  diction. 
The  imagery. 

The   wonderfully   expressive   words. 
The  vistas  of  thought  opened  up. 
The  soundness  of  the  views  of  life. 
The  solidity  of  the  doctrine. 
The  depths  of  divine  love  sounded. 
The  compassion  of  divine  mercy  portrayed. 
The  contrast  of  finite  and  infinite  flashed  forth. 
The  gentleness  of  Divine  Providence  in  life's  sorrows. 
The  recompense  to  the  soul  that  turneth  back  to  God. 
The  insight  into  the  Spiritual  Life. 
The  knowledge  of  the  human  heart. 
The  emptiness  of  all  save  God. 
The  subterfuges  of  the  heart  in  evading  God's  love. 
The  futility  of  the  flight  of  the  soul  from  God, 


34 


SELECTED   WORDS— THOUGHTS— IDEAS. 

Down  the  arches  of  the  years. 

I  hid  from  Him  in  the  mist  of  tears  and  under  running 

laughter. 
Vistaed  hopes. 

Shot  adown  Titanic  glooms  of  chasmed  fears. 
Imperturbed  pace,  majestic  instancy,  deliberate  speed. 
Hearted  casement. 
Trellised  with  intertwining  charities. 

The  margent  of  the  world. 
Gold  gateways  of  the  stars. 
Fretted  to  dulcet  jars. 
And  silvern  chatter. 
The  pale  ports  of  the  moon. 

Young  skyey  blossoms. 
Tremendous  lover. 
Traitorous  trueness. 
Loyal  deceit. 

Whistling  mane  of  every  wind.- 
Long  savannahs  of  the  blue. 
Thunder  driven 

Clanged  His  chariot  'thwart  a  heaven. 
Plashy  with  flying  lightnings  round  the  spurn  of  their 
feet. 

Plucked  them  from  me  by  the  hair. 
Delicate  fellowship. 
Wind-walled  palace. 

35 


Azurcd  dais. 
Taintless  way  is. 
Lucent  weeping. 

Drew  the  bolt  of  Nature's  secrecies. 

Swift  importings  in  the  wilful  face  of  skies. 

Knew   how   the  clouds  arise,   spumed   of  the   wild   sea 

snortings. 
Shapers  of  mine  own  words. 
With  them  joyed  and  was  bereaven. 

The  day's  dead  sanctities. 

I  laughed  in  the  morning's  eyes. 

Heaven  and  I  wept  together. 

Its  sweet  tears  were  salt  with  mortal  mine. 

Red  throb  of  its  sunset  heart. 

My  tears  were  hot  on  Heaven's  grey  cheek. 

Their  sound  is  but  their  stir. 

They  speak  by  silences. 

Blue  bosom  veil  of  sky. 

I  shook  the  pillaring  hours. 

Pulled  my  life  upon  me. 

My  days  have  crackled  and  gone  up  in  smoke. 

Puffed  and  burst  as  sun-starts  on  a  stream. 

Now  fails  the  dream  the  dreamer, 
And  the  lute  the  lutanist. 
Blossomy  twist. 

I  swung  the  earth  a  trinket  at  my  wrist. 
With  heavy  griefs  so  overplussed. 
An  amaranthine  weed. 
Designer  infinite. 

36 


Must  thou  char  the  wood  to  limn  with  it? 

My   freshness  spent  its  wavering  shower  in  the  dust, 

where  tear-drippings  stagnate. 
Dank   thoughts   that   shiver   upon   the   sighful   branches 

of  the  mind. 
Those  shaken  mists  a  space  unsettle. 
Round  the  half-glimpsed  turrets  slowly  wash  again. 
With  glooming  robes. 

Must  thy  harvest  fields  be  dunged  with  rotten  death? 
That  voice  is  round  me  like  a  bursting  sea. 
Shattered  in  shard  on  shard. 
Seeing  none  but  I  make  much  of  naught. 
Of  all  man's  clotted  clay,  the  dingiest  clot. 
Whom  wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble  thee,  save  Me,  save 
only  Me? 

I  did  but  take,  not  for  thy  harms. 

Is  my  gloom  after  all,  shade  of  His  hand  outstretched 

caressingly? 
Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me. 


37 


EXPRESSIVE  WORDS. 

Amaranth — Purple  flower,    hnmortal  weed. 

Amaranthine — Immortal,  unfading. 

Bruit — noise. 

Casement — window. 

Clotted  clay — clay  in  clots  with  moisture. 

Dank — moist,  heavy. 

Dulcet  jars — Sweet  discords. 

Fret — High   notes  held  down   on   stringed   instruments, 

guitar,  etc. 
Fret — Means  to  tease,  also  to  strike  metal  into  shapes 

and  bars. 
Fretted  to  dulcet  jars. 
Instancy — urgent  pressure. 
Limn — paint,  draw. 
Margent — ^border. 
Owe — own. 
Pulp — inside. 
Rind— shell. 

Savannahs — meadows,  low,  level,  treeless  plains. 
Shard — piece  of  broken  pottery. 
Sun-starts — water  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 
Wantoning — playing. 
Wash — rise  against,  like  the  tide  waters. 
Wist — to  know.  wit. 


38 


In  his  article  on  Francis  Thompson,  Albert  Cock 
says : 

"Who,  knowing  the  'Hound  of  Heaven,'  will  assert 
that  the  Catholic  Church  no  longer  voices  the  spiritual 
yearnings  of  the  age?  .  .  .  Francis  Thompson  is, 
in  some  respects,  the  greatest  achievement  of  Catholic- 
ism in  the  nineteenth  century.  His  poetry  is  resident  in 
man.     It  is  the  repetition  of  the  centuries." 

And  he  continues : 

"No  wonder  this  moved  the  literary  world  to  enthusi- 
asm. It  has  been  said  that  people  will  be  learning  it  by 
heart  two  centuries  hence.  In  truth  its  qualities  hardly 
need  analyzing.  Many  are  the  odes  in  our  language  which 
drag  out  a  weary  length  and  lack  an  inevitable  finish,  but 
not  of  this  can  it  be  said: 

Time  is.    Our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending. 

For  immediacy  of  appeal  and  perfect  conformity  of 
soul  with  Force,  it  has  no  superior;  in  its  astounding 
speed  of  phrase  it  reaches  a  new  goal  in  our  literature; 
its  subtle  and  intricate  rhymes  are  the  secret  rivets  which 
bind  together  a  poem  unique  in  the  singleness  and  great- 
ness of  its  theme ;  as  a  religious  poem  it  stands  for  all  the 
world  and  for  all  time,  and,  by  a  right  royal  of  its  own 
claims  peerage  with  the  Psalmist  for  range,  with  St.  Paul 
for  virility  of  argument  and  with  St.  Augustine  for  great- 
ness of  thought  and  diction." 


39 


A  STUDY  OF 
FRANCIS  THOMPSONS 

HOUND    OF    HEAVEN 

BY^ — 

REV.  J.  F.  X.  O'CONOR,  S.J. 

Dedicated  with  permission  to  His  Eminence  Cardinal  Farley^ 

Father  O'Conor's  ''Study  of  Francis  Thompson's  Hound  of 
Heaven"  contains  the  complete  poem,  an  interpretation,  a  mys- 
tical application  and  parallel  with  the  Spiritual  Exercises  of  St. 
Ignatius. 

SOME  OPINIONS 

"This  remarkably  interesting  book  may  be  ordered  now  from 
the  leading  publishers." 

"It  contains  an  estimate  and  an  appreciation  of  the  most  re- 
markable poem  of  the  century,  full  of  strength,  sweetness  and 
light.  There  is  given  a  mystical  application  and  a  parallel  be- 
tween it  and  the  Exercises  of  St.  Ignatius." 

"People  will  still  be  learning  it  by  heart  two  hundred  years 
hence." 

"It  will  be  eventually  used  as  a  text  book  in  colleges,  convents 
and  schools." 

"Fr.  O'Conor  has  strung  another  pearl  on  the  gleaming  carca- 
.net  of  Catholic  Belles-Lettres." 

"My  warmest  congratulations  and  my  admiration  for  the  spirit- 
ual and  literary  chef-d'oeuvre.  May  it  have  the  widest  distribu- 
tion, as  it  is  certain  to  do  good  in  every  respect." 

"I  went  through  the  'Study  of  the  Hound  of  Heaven'  most 
carefully.  It  is  very,  very  fine.  A  great  many  are  anxious  to 
read  it.    A  copy  should  be  in  every  English  institution." 

"Some  will  not  read  the  poem  because  of  the  name." 

40 


"Of  this  poet  Chesterton  says :  'You  can  work  infinitely  in, 
and  infinitely  out.'     Room  for  analysis  there." 

"I  have  received  the  'Study  of  the  Hound  of  Heaven.'  On 
reading  the  poem  I  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  it,  but  as  I  finished 
the  Study  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  been  in  a  dark  cathedral  looking 
at  a  painting  when  the  window  opened  and  shed  a  flood  of  light, 
bringing  out  the  glorious  beauty  of  the  picture  in  all  its  splendid 
color  and  detail." 

"Immediacy  of  success  has  greeted  Father  O'Conor's  'Study  of 
Francis  Thompson's  Hound  of  Heaven.' " 

"Its  first  limited  edition  was  rapidly  exhausted.  Everyone 
wants  to  read  it.  It  has  been  welcomed  by  the  general  reader  and 
the  scholar,  the  lover  of  the  spiritual  and  of  the  literary,  by 
the  religious  and  the  layman." 

"It  will  be  read  and  learned  in  our  schools,  as  well  as  affording 
a  choice  Christmas  gift  for  a  friend  to  whom  one  wishes  to  send 
a  great  thought  in  great  words." 

"Evidently  John  Lane  must  realize  the  value  and  charm  of  the 
'Study  of  the  Hound  of  Heaven,'  and  I  am  elated  that  you  have 
moulded  it  so  beautifully." 

"I  was  not  familiar  with  the  poem  and  at  first  it  really  awed 
me.  Each  time  one  reads  it  it  becomes  more  wonderful  and 
beautiful,  but  I  am  afraid  without  your  brilliant  interpretation 
others  besides  myself  would  have  lost  its  full  meaning.  You 
have  certainly  made  it  very  clear  to  comprehend." 

"You  have  opened  up  vistas  through  the  richness  of  Thomp- 
son's thought  that  will  enable  many  minds  to  enjoy  beauties  that 
would  have  remained  otherwise  hidden  but  to  the  few." 

"I  hope  the  little  work  wmII  fall  into  many  hands  ;  it  has  a  real 
mission  in  the  material  world  of  to-day,  as  it  opens  the  way  to 
all  that  is  most  spiritual  and  highest." 

■'The  parallel  with  the  Spiritual  Exercises  is  a  stroke  of  genius. 
The  thought  in  the  poem  is  found  there."        M.  Kenny,  S.J., 

Associate  Editor  of  "America." 
41 


"I  wish  to  gratulate  you.  It  is  neat  and  attractive,  and,  as 
far  as  1  have  been  able  to  look  into  it,  is  scholarly." 

F.  P.  Donnelly,  S.J. 

"Literature  and  religious  thought  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
Fr.  O'Conor  for  making  this  poem  better  known  and,  further- 
more, attractive  and  exquisitely  interesting  by  revealing  hidden 
beauties  and  meanings  that  would  have  remained  unknown  save 
to  the  few." 

"How  few  of  even  the  literary  religious  would  have  known  all 
the  hidden  beauties  of  this  masterpiece,  if  you  had  not  unearthed 
them  for  us." 

"it  surely  v.as  an  inspiration  which  prompted  you  to  make  a 
study  of  this  rarely  beautiful  poem  and  give  it  so  unique  an  inter- 
pretation. While  every  stanza  is  a  gem  and  full  of  thought  for 
spiritual  meditation  ...  its  meaning  is  not  clear,  and  your 
study  will  solve  many  doubts  and  make  better  known  to  the  world 
the  intrinsic  beauty  and  spiritual  value  of  the  work  of  a  truly 
noble  Catholic  poet." 

"  The  Hound  of  Heaven'  will  not  be  read  and  set  aside ;  it  will 
stand  rereading  many,  many  times." 

A  partial  list  of  schools  adopting  it  as  text-book : 

Sacred  Heart  Convent,  Man-  Cathedral  College. 

hattanville,  N.  Y.  Brentwood. 

College  of  j\It.  St.  Vincent.  St.  ^Mark's  Academy,  Altoona. 

St.  Joseph's,  Chestnut  Hill.  Xew  Rochelle  College. 

"I  shall  recommend  it  to  the  higher  grades  of  our  Catholic 
schools."  Rev.  Joseph  Smith, 

Siipcriiitcndcnt  N.  Y.  Catholic  Schools. 

"Your  study  of  Francis  Thompson's  'Hound  of  Heaven'  is  a 
literary  treat.  The  poem  I  had  read  many  times  before,  and  it 
is  one  of  my  favorite  bits  of  English  literature;  but,  I  say  it 
frankly,  your  Study  of  this  masterpiece  is  a  new  revelation  to 
me  of  its  beauty.  The  poem  and  your  'Study'  of  it  ought  to  be 
in  the  hands  of  every  lover  of  what  is  best  in  English  literature." 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

William  Card.  O'Coxnell, 
Abp.  Boston. 
42 


-The  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  of  Pittsburg ^i 

"I  have  read  with  interest  and  pleasure  your  'Study  of  Frands 
Tho;iipson's  Hound  of  Heaven,'  and  I  congratulate  you  on  the 
service  v^hich  you  have  done  to  all  readers  of  the  greatest  poem 
of  modern  times."  Yours  sincerely, 

^Regis  Canevin. 

"You  can  hardly  imagine  how  thankful  I  am  for  your  'Study' 
of  Francis  Thompson's  'Hound  of  Heaven.'  It  has  revealed  the 
Jiidde.n  beauty  of  the  poem.^'  Very  faithfully  yours, 

a&jAMES  A.  McFaul, 
Bp.  of  Trenton. 

Francis   J.    Quinlan,    fonmer    President   of   the    Catholic   Club, 
New  York : 

"I  beg  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  beautiful  'Study  of 
■,the  Hound  of  Heaven,'  and  to  thank  you  for  the  same.  In  read- 
ing it  I  am  strangely  reminded,  though  in  a  different  way,  of  the 
great  Oratorio  of  Elgar,  'The  Drea^m  of  Gerontius,'  and  hasten 
to  pay  my  tribute  to  the  rnasterly  work  achieved." 

"The  'Study  of  the  Hound  of  Heaven'  is  a  n^agnificent  method 
of  Critical  Reading.  I  wish  that  it  were  in  the  hands  of  every 
^igh  School  teacher  of  English."  J.  H.  Haaren, 

Associate  Superifitendent  Public  Schools  of  jV.  Y. 

'1  congratulate  the  author  upon  his  most  adminable  analysis  of 

one  of  the  greatest  odes  in  English  literature.     It  is  -a  spiritual 

fcretreat  to  read  it.     He  is  doing  a  great  service  to  both  literature 

]an4  CathoHc  truth  in  thus  bringing  to  the  attention  of  readers  the 

)eauty  and  profouj^  spirijrual  significance  of  this  wonderful  ode. 

heartily   wish   the    Study   the    widest   possible   circulation.      It 

would  have  great  educational  value  if  it  were  used  in  colleges 

and  convents."  CoNf)E  B.  Fallen, 

Managing  Editor  Catholic  Encyclopedia. 

"It  will  be  eventually  used  as  a  text  book  in  colleges,  convents 
md  schools." 

JOHN  LANE  COMPANY, 

110  West  32d  St.  NEW  YORK. 

Cloth,  oOc. ;  paper,  25c. ;  numbers  at  special  rates. 
43 


EVERYSOUL 

A  XI) 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  SUNRISE  SEA 

A  Mystery  Play,  Operetta  and  Musical  Drama 

Words  and  Music  by  ' 

J.  F.  X   0  CONOR,  S.J. 

Several  Performances  have  been  given  in  New  York  and 
Rochester, 

It  will  be  produced  in  Buffalo,  in  January,  1913,  and  later 
in  the  year,  in  New  York. 
"It  is  most  unique  and  charming  in  every  respect." 

"Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  beautiful  music  and 
composition." 

"It  possesses  a  charm  and  inspiration  unequalled  by  any  I 
have  known  before,  although  I  have  been  training  pupils  for  a 
number  of  years." 

"Fr.  O'Conor  is  first  in  a  new  field." 

!'It  was  a  great  success." 

"  'Everysoul'  is  indeed  a  thing  of  beauty,  and  the  dialogue 
ideal." 

"  'Everysoul'  is  beautiful.  I  would  love  to  hear  the  Ben 
Greet  players  give  it.  I  heard  them  in  Everyman  and  was 
entranced,  but  'Everysoul'  would  be  even  finer  with  the  in- 
troduction of  a  good  chorus-dance." 

J.  FISCHER  &  BRC,  7  Bible  House,  New  York 
44 


14  DAY  USE 

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This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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